


It's All In The Malfoy Family

by TwilightToMidnight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunning Malfoys, Draco is a true Slytherin, Dramione Romcom Fest, F/M, Hermione takes a chance, NSFW, Sabrina 1954, Theo could write an essay on the hazards of champagne flutes, Theo has an accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightToMidnight/pseuds/TwilightToMidnight
Summary: Over a decade of longing and desire comes to fruition one night. Not quite the way Hermione expected but definitely with a bang. Everyone and their dog seem to be working against her.For the 2020 Dramione RomCom Fest. Loosely based off Sabrina (1954 - with Audrey Hepburn).
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 99
Collections: Dramione RomCom Fest





	It's All In The Malfoy Family

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneRomComFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneRomComFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Sabrina (1954) - claimed by twilighttomidnight
> 
> This story, as the title suggests, is loosely based off the movie Sabrina, starring Audrey Hepburn. It needs a little context so if you have never seen the movie, I'd strongly suggest you watch it as it is a completely charming mother of romcoms before the term romcom was invented.  
> Please note that Draco is very loosely based around Linus but with all his own agenda. 
> 
> If you don't wish to watch the movie (but why not??? It's so good!), please look up Sabrina's dress for the Larrabee ball. You'll need it for uhhhh...context? Mechanics? Yes. Mechanics.

The magic quarter of the _Gare du Nord_ was bustling on that particular Saturday morning. Harried French was interspersed the heavy British English as passengers from the inter-channel wizarding express unloaded its cargo of rushing business men and holidaying young families onto the streets of Paris.

Hermione spotted the familiar flash of red hair from halfway down the length of the platform, followed shortly by a messy mop of blond curls and a slick black bob.

“Girls!” She waved, raised on her tip toes to be seen over the crowd. “Here!”

She hefted her familiar little purple, beaded handbag more securely onto her shoulder before she darted around a family of five. “Girls! Over here!”

Pansy spotted her first; rolling her eyes beneath her razor straight bangs as Hermione fought a grin, seeing that familiar fond sneering expression. “Granger, for Merlin’s sake, has two years in Paris not rubbed off on you at all? Could you perhaps try for an ounce of class?”

Hermione brushed off the comment and grabbed the taller woman in a tight hug. Three years cohabitation with the former Slytherin during their Wizarding University years had taught her that if Pansy wanted to throw a real insult, it’s recipient would likely would be crying tears of blood on the platform tiles by now. “Missed you too, Pans. New haircut?”

Pansy expression soured instantly as she pulled away. “Luna’s demon spawn’s doing.”

“Hermione!” Ginny pulled her in. “Don’t mind Pans. She’s been cursing the twins since the train left King’s cross. Pretty sure she doesn’t even know which one of them put gum in her hair.”

“Lysander did.” Luna joined them instantly in their somewhat awkward hug, both taking care not to crush Ginny’s baby bump. “Lorcan put the Gillyweed in her boots.”

Pansy huffed. “You owe me, Scamander, those boots were vintage. Can’t get the damned smell out.”

“Serves you right for wearing Dragonhide.” Luna sniffed. “Do you know how they harvest that –”

“Alright, alright.” Hermione laughed as she interjected. “Let’s get you to the hotel. We’ve got an hour before our lunch reservation at that damned expensive French place Pans likes.”

Pansy threw her a glare before wrapping her arms around the three of them. “Silence Granger, no need to advertise your poor taste to the world.”

Hermione stuck out her tongue childishly, reaching out to grab the Portkey Pansy had fished out from her pocket. She relaxed into the unpleasant pull at her navel as the magic spun them away.

She stumbled as they landed, swallowing that annoying bout of vertigo. Reaching out, she steadied Ginny too who’s pregnancy meant her magic was temperamental and made it even harder to cope with the after effects of portkey travel.

Luna whistled as they surveyed their new surroundings. “Pans, you’ve outdone yourself this time. This suite must’ve cost you a small fortune of galleons.”

Hermione silently concurred. The immense living space, the gilded antique chandelier, the Louis XIV settee set and the immense floor to ceiling windows all screamed a level of luxury only Pansy would find reasonable to shell out a small fortune to stay in. “It’s completely ridiculous. You’re only staying in Paris for 2 days.”

Pansy sniffed and turned away, not deigning to answer. Instead, she set about removing her fine kid-leather gloves in such a way that Hermione was sure she’d had special pureblood debutante lessons specifically for.

A flash of white in the large windows drew Hermione’s gaze. “Is that a white peacock?”

Ginny and Luna immediately disentangled themselves and wandered away with suspicious agility.

“What kind of hotel has white peacocks wandering around their grounds?” Hermione gazed at the haughty creature with increasing suspicion, especially as she surveyed the carefully manicured grounds, stretching into a glittering lake on the horizon. “Where are we, Parkinson?”

Casual as can be, Pansy answered as she laid her gloves on a side table, “Malfoy manor.”

It was pure chaos in a split second as Ginny ducked out of the line of fire and Luna made a grab for Hermione’s wand arm. All for naught though as Hermione suddenly found her wand holster alarmingly empty, her fingers waving nothing but air as she traced out a non-verbal spell to shave off what was left of Pansy’s hair…or perhaps an eyebrow.

Pansy had the gall to smirk. She held up Hermione’s wand, the familiar vine twirling between her fingers.

“Lifted it off you on the platform. Handy trick I picked up during the war.”

Hermione straightened as Luna freed her. She swallowed a flash of annoyance at having been so carelessly disarmed. “What is the meaning of this, Parkinson?”

“No meaning.” Pansy replied, completely nonchalant. “Just thought you might want to attend Theo’s engagement party this weekend.”

Hermione ignored the jolt of nausea at those words, taking care to school her neutral expression. She didn’t miss the frowning glance Ginny and Luna exchanged at her side. “I don’t believe I was invited.”

Pansy waved her off. “Of course, you were. Narcissa sent me the invitation to send to you. And oh look…why, here it is in my pocket…” Her face a picture of bewilderment which would shame an actress, “…oh my, I must’ve forgotten to forward it on, how silly of me.”

“Parkinson.” A persistent ringing was sounding in Hermione’s ears. “I don’t want to be here.”

Ginny stepped forth and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Yes, you do. Theo Nott is getting married.”

Hermione shrugged free, unwilling to face the aching hollowness spreading in chest. “So? What does that have to do with me?” Even the words tasted like bitterness.

Luna hummed absently. “Nothing and everything, I suppose. Nothing to the you that exists now, or so you’d like to pretend; and everything to the woman who has been watching Theodore Nott from between the library stacks since your 4th year at Hogwarts.”

Hermione fought the heat the rose to her cheeks. She had fought hard in the past two years away in Paris to leave that behind her. To leave behind the love-sick teenage girl who had sadly idolised a boy to whom she’d never spoken more than a sentence or two to, first while they were at Hogwarts, then at Malfoy Enterprises after he had been adopted in by the Malfoy family.

Pansy broke her wallowing train of thought. “Never knew what you saw in that wastrel. All he does is whore around and get drunk.”

Hermione bristled at the description. “That’s not true. He was an excellent Executive Director in the Potions research Branch. He was kind and generous and all the staff loved him!”

“He showed up once a week for an hour and signed everything put under his nose with a Quik-Quotes Quill. Draco told me that he once approved a 500 galleon monthly stipend to raise a departmental alpaca for company morale.” Pansy picked at some imaginary dirt beneath a nail. “Draco had to countersign everything after that incident.”

Ginny stifled what sounded suspiciously like a snort. “I hope Malfoy senior knows what he’s done to the family business.”

“Draco and Theo have been thick as thieves since they were both in diapers. Adopting Theo after the Notts died in the war was just legal formality. The Malfoys always saw Theo as a second son anyway. What’s a few galleons worth for the sake of family unity?” Pansy waved away the thought as if were unimportant. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“Hermione’s love for Man-whore, Theo Nott.” Luna chimed in.

“That’s right.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands as she watched the girls circle around her. “He’s not a Man-whore.” She protested weakly. “He just hadn’t found the right girl.”

“Daphne is his fifth fiancée.” Ginny offered cheerfully. “He’s either a man-whore or he suffers from some extremely rare form of heterosexual amnesia.”

Pansy slammed her palm onto an expensive looking marble side table. “Back to the point, ladies.” She pointed a dangerously red manicured finger at Hermione. “We’re here to give you a chance with Man-whore Nott; this time it’s make or break, do something or lose him forever.”

A faint cold sweat started to form on her brow. “He’ll probably break off the engagement in a few weeks like he did the last few times.” She rubbed the tip of her nose, a nervous habit Pansy’s gaze honed in on immediately.

“Oh, come off it, Granger.” Pansy threw herself into a lush looking settee, “You’ve probably read the gossip rags…”

 _Religiously._ Hermione was loathe to admit to herself.

“…Not only is this Theo’s fifth engagement but it also a huge merger between the Malfoy and Greengrass families. Maximillian Greengrass is practically frothing at the mouth to get this wedding over and done with. If he could, he’d probably have them hand-fasted and bound by the end of this bloody engagement party.”

 _Especially after the ugly break up between Astoria and Theo only 6 months prior._ Everyone heard the unsaid words as loudly as if they’d been shouted in the room. What a scandal that had been; overthrowing one sister for another then followed by the lightning fast engagement. Everyone and their gossiping biddy aunt were watching Daphne’s waistline like hawks or vultures…as it were.

“All the more reason we shouldn’t intervene.” Hermione ignored the regret those words brought. “Lucius Malfoy would probably bury me alive beneath the family crypt if he even got the faintest idea that anyone would sabotage this wedding.”

Pansy’s nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something bad. “It’s not papa Malfoy I would worry about. The Greengrass fortune is loose change compared to the Malfoy vaults. I’d watch out for Edith Greengrass. That bitch has been trying to worm her way into the Malfoy family since Lucius passed her over for Narcissa in their Hogwarts days.”

“I heard she’s the one that threw Daphne at Theo when she realised that Astoria wasn’t holding his attention.” Ginny threw herself onto the same settee beside Pansy, eyes alight with mischief. “I heard that she’s trying to pair off Draco and Astoria now to ensure they really ‘keep it in the family’.”

Hermione grimaced as their conversation turned towards her old nemesis and current employer. Sure, they had set aside their differences after the trials at the end of the war; he had even deigned to acknowledge her existence when she had been working in the London offices of Malfoy Enterprises, but Hermione could never shake the feeling that he still disapproved of her.

It was him who had abruptly requested her transfer from the London offices to Paris two years ago on the pretence of aiding a potions research project. She had been glad to go at the time, Theo having just gotten engaged to Parvati Patil who had flaunted her ring and her relationship around the office enough that Hermione had once burst into tears behind an overgrown Monstera pot plant in the middle of workday.

The git had denied all her requests to transfer back since then.

“Draco’s been dodging Astoria like she’s got Dragon Pox.” Pansy was saying with a smirk. “Saw him literally leap into the hedges the other day, to avoid her.”

Hermione snorted at the thought and regretted it immediately when Pansy’s attention swung back to her. The gleam in her gaze could’ve made Voldemort think twice.

“Back to Granger.”

“No. Not back to me, Parkinson.” Hermione felt the cold sweat start again as three pairs of eyes fixed on her. “Leave me out of your schemes.”

Ginny and Luna leapt for her, crossing the carpeted expanse with remarkable agility, each taking an arm and forcing Hermione into an armchair.

“Hear us out, Granger.” Pansy leant forward and patted Hermione’s knee. “No one is asking you to break up the engagement. All we’re saying is, don’t you want to know what’s possible? Don’t you want to be that girl that he takes into the darkness?”

_Desperately._

Hermione couldn’t help but remember every Christmas party she had attended at Malfoy manor in the past five years. Every year, she had watched from behind her wine glass as Theo Nott took a different girl by the hand, champagne bottle beneath an arm, flutes in his pocket, leading her to the darkened Quidditch pitch where they would dance and kiss beneath a fire bright moon, surrounded by the echo of a distant orchestra.

Hermione could remember closing her eyes and swaying along with the music, imagining, for just a single moment, that the next year, or the year after that, that it could be her.

Ginny must have seen the longing on her face. “Hermione. Try. Nothing is worse that regret for lost opportunities.”

A little of spark of hope warmed Hermione. Something she had worked hard to snuff for years when it came to Theo Nott. Just one night, she promised herself, she’d give herself that gall, that confidence to try; to explore and understand that potential between them for just one night. Then she could say it was something she would not regret.

Luna smiled dreamily at her. “Then it’s settled. We’ll attend the engagement ball tonight and help Hermione corner Theo.”

Hermione frowned at the thought. “I wish you wouldn’t put it like that. Sounds like I’m laying a bear trap.”

“Better yet, a honey trap, darling.” Pansy drawled, sending Ginny into a fit of cackling laughter. “I’ve got the perfect evening gown for you. Yards of skirt and way off the shoulders.”

* * *

“I’ve just met the most divine creature.” Theo gasped into Draco’s ear making the other man pull away with a grimace at the burst of moist breath which puffed across his face. He fought the insistent pull on his arm, keeping his eyes on the group of pretentious old wizards currently sending exploding curses at a large sheet of magically fortified plastic. Over the explosions of sparks, he met Lucius’ eyes as the elder Malfoy raised a sardonic eyebrow.

Frowning, Draco turned towards Theo. “That divine creature better be your fiancée in disguise. Don’t forget what’s riding on you keeping your dick in your pants until All Hallows’ Eve.”

Theo skilfully dodged away as he made a grab his shirt collar. “Getting slow, old man.”

“I am only twenty two days older than you, Nott.” Draco grumbled.

Theo winked over his shoulder as he beelined for the bar. “Still older, brother.”

“Remind me to ask my father why he had to insist on adopting you into this family.”

“Because my good for nothing Death Eater father had the wisdom to die ignominiously in the war, and leave me, poor orphaned child that I am, to –”

“Oh, shut it.” Draco grumbled as he watched Theo slip one champagne flute into a back pocket, followed closely by another. The routine was always the same, year after year. The champagne bottle came next, wrapped in a pristine white linen to catch the condensation. “Who’s the lucky witch this year, hmm? Does she have enough brains in that flighty head of hers to duel Daphne when she finds out what you’ve been up to, Nott?”

Theo grinned from ear to ear. Something that unnerved Draco greatly.

“More than. I’d say she could make Daphne quake in her Manolo’s. Besides,” he swept back a lock of dark hair smugly, “No need to make it sound so sordid. Granger and I are just catching up on our Hogwarts days.”

Draco stiffened. Teeth clenched, he forced out, “Granger? Did she return from Paris?”

Seemingly oblivious, Theo hummed cheerfully. “Paris? Has she been in Paris? It’s done her some good then. You should’ve seen her, Drake. Hair all done up and in that tight little dress. Mmm…you know what they say about those Parisian witches…”

There was a cold chill slowly creeping through his veins. “What do they say about Parisian witches, Nott?”

“Adventurous.” Theo murmured in a reverent tone, “Curious – Open…”

Draco’s eye twitched.

“…to possibility.” Theo finished with a saccharine grin.

Draco set down his tumbler of whiskey with thump on the bar’s counter top, fingers brushing away the condensation of ice on his hands. “Is that what they say?” he returned, carefully neutral as he straightened his robes.

“Boys.” Lucius swept in, effortlessly cool, laying a steady hand on Draco’s shoulder. “What are we discussing that has put that smile on your face, Theodore?” The hand on his shoulder squeezed.

Lucius seemed to take in the bottle in Theo’s hands, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Theodore, I thought Miss Greengrass had been delayed at her bridal modiste this evening; don’t tell me she’s already arrived and not greeted Narcissa and I?”

Draco watched with a flash of annoyance as the other younger man’s expression smoothed into practiced innocence. “Not at all, Lucius. Daphne has yet to make her grand entrance. I’m just catching up with an old schoolmate of ours, perhaps you remember her, Miss Hermione Granger?”

“Granger?” Lucius turned, his gaze boring into Draco’s. Slate grey versus quicksilver.

Draco silently thanked Severus Snape, wherever his treacherous soul resided, for his occlumency training.

Lucius smiled benignly. “Why, of course. Hard to forget, Miss Granger. Curious young lady; had quite the set of high ideals in her mind during the Wizengamot trials, if I recall correctly?” He smiled as Theo shrugged. “I imagine she could occupy you for some time with all her…opinions.”

The whiskey tumbler on the counter cracked as Draco fought the heat which suddenly burned in his cheeks. “I imagine –” He bit out, eyes, set firmly on the tips of his shoes. “- that Nott is vastly interested in all of Granger’s opinions.”

“Yes, yes.” Lucius waved towards a passing servant. “Do have a seat, Theo. Let’s have Brimley bring you a freshly chilled bottle of champagne to entertain Miss Granger. I imagine she would enjoy the 1949 Krug –”

Draco watched, tamping down his rising ire as Theo sauntered to a leather armchair by the banked fireplace and dropped himself into it.

There was a loud crack.

Theo’s eyes shot up to meet Draco’s.

The glasses! Draco gaped. The glasses in Theo’s back pocket…but surely, they were unbreakable Goblin crystal; a priceless set brought into the family through Narcissa’s dowry from the Black family.

Theo whimpered, tears welling in his eyes as his mouth pulled into a horrified silent cry. As if in slow motion, he raised himself tentatively off the cushions and awkwardly hobbled forward a few steps.

Snapping out of his frozen disbelief, Draco strode forward and caught his hunched formed. Briefly, mirth quirked his lips before he spotted the blood dotting the upholstery Theo had recently vacated.

“Oh Merlin. How…?” He muttered.

Theo howled. Whimpering and clutching at Draco’s robes, unable to fully straighten even as onlookers, now thoroughly diverted from their original interest in the indestructible plastic, began to gather around the commotion.

“Oh dear.” Lucius swept into their little growing circle, meeting Draco’s eyes with a curious smirk. “What a terrible accident!” He announced, sounding not even an ounce concerned. “Brimley. Do send for a mediwizard.”

Draco grimaced as Theo let loose another piercing howl right next to his ear. “Oh, will you stuff a sock in it, Nott. Let me get you into the sitting room while we wait for the healer.”

“Yes, yes.” Lucius concurred so breezily that Draco sent him frustrated glared over Theo’s bent head. “Do clear a path, gentleman.”  
  
“I can’t blood well walk, Malfoy!” Theo clawed at Draco as Narcissa pushed her way through the curious throng of onlookers.

“What is all this ruckus?” She demanded, every inch the haughty hostess. “Draco darling…?” Her eyes swept the scene, landing briefly on Theo’s bent form, Lucius’ innocent expression and the shattered stems of crystal glasses on the armchair.

“Those were antique.” She aimed a harsh glare at her husband. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Expression smoothing, she surveyed the scene. “Theo dear, you’re getting blood on my Aubusson.” Narcissa drew her wand and lifted Theo into the air with a swish. “Let’s get you settled in the sitting room while we wait. Lucius, did you send for a mediwizard?”

“Why, of course dear.” Lucius murmured to the back of his retreating wife.

Draco made to follow but Lucius intercepted him. “Son, I believe there’s a young lady who is in need of a glass of champagne.”

* * *

The darkened Quidditch pitch was eerily romantic to Hermione. The moon, at its fullest, offered just enough light for atmosphere, casting shadows over cosy little alcoves. Distant, dying notes of a song lingered and faded even as another started, the dance between violins and cellos playing out sweet notes as Hermione swayed.

The train of her ballgown slid effortlessly over the blades of grass on the pitch, catching and rustling now and then as she tried to make out the song in the air.

 _What a dream._ It had been effortless. Just as she always imagined it would be between them. Like something out of a muggle movie. Her eyes met his across the dance floor as ‘ _La vie en rose’_ played. Just like that, the man of her teenage dreams, had crossed the distance between them, taken her hand in his and laid a slow lingering kiss on her fingers.

With practiced ease, he had drawn her into his arms for the remainder of the song, swept her across the dance floor and made her laugh until she was dizzy with euphoria and mirth. Pansy had sent her wink above her glass even as Theodore Nott, drew her away from the well-lit gardens, down that familiar path that Hermione had covertly followed years before and directed her to await him at the Quidditch pitch so that they could talk somewhere quieter and more intimate.

And here she awaited him, perched on a bench on one of the elevated platforms of seats, staring across the expanse of grass, humming beneath her breath.

A tall man’s form was crossing the pitch towards her, his strides sure and brisk. As her excited gaze roved his form, confusion swept through her as she spotted a shock of unmistakable blond hair which glinted silver in the moonlight.

He neared before Hermione could process the turn of events.

“Granger.” Patrician features turned up to survey hers. “Will you come down or shall I come up?”

“What’s happened? Where’s Theo?” She found herself saying instead of answering the question posed, suddenly wary.

Malfoy watched her cautiously, standing eerily still as if she were a doe, about to bolt. “Theo…got stuck.”

Hermione was bewildered. “Stuck?” Stuck where? How? Why? “Then why are you here instead, Malfoy?”

The man in the slim black dress robes grinned. “You ordered champagne, didn’t you?” He gestured to the bottle in his hand, pouring a liquid gold stream into two flutes and planted the bottle firmly into the grass beside his feet. He held one towards her; its rim glinting in the moonlight.

Guardedly, Hermione eased herself down the stairs of the bleachers until her skirts were again brushing through the giving blades of grass. She tentatively reached out, careful to maintain arm’s length. He watched her, his face half in shadow, making no attempt to close the distance.

Her fingers brushed his as she took the glass. “You weren’t sent to…deal…with me?”

Hermione took a sip of the champagne, savouring the lingering sweet after taste as she watched the stoic expression on her former childhood nemesis’ face. He seemed to hesitate, an odd firming of his lips, barely a tic of an expression before it was gone and he was her smiling at her; as if there had never been any enmity between them in years past. “Deal with you?”

“Yes.” Heart pounding in her chest, she dared to glance up from her champagne. “Are you about to tell me that a muggle born should know her place?”

His lips thinned again.

 _Ah…there it was._ Hermione thought to herself, bracing for ugly words and age-old prejudice. Instinct made her reach for her concealed wand, cleverly hidden in the folds of her skirt.

“Have you been kicked in the head by a polo pony recently, Granger?” He took a large swallow of his own glass, “Have you forgotten that God forsaken war we both lived through?”

Hermione tamped down the tightness in her chest, a little ashamed at her assumption. She raised the glass to her lips again, letting her wand slip back into its holster at her side. “Then why did you come, Malfoy?”

He seemed to physically brace himself for a moment; throwing back the remainder of his champagne before he pulled his shoulders back and straightened to his full height. He set aside his glass before gently tugging hers away from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

“I’m here to dance with you.” His voice whispered across the distance between them even as the haunting tune of ‘ _Isn’t it Romantic’_ danced across the grass towards them.

As if lead by the music, Malfoy drew closer.

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin as she felt a gentle hand wrap around the silk-thin material at her waist, his warm, masculine hand imprinting itself against the small of her back as he drew her in, close enough to lay her cheek against the fine linen of his coat, her nose an inch from his open collar, close enough to see the dark dip between his collarbones and pale skin almost alabaster in the moonlight.

Pulse skittering beneath her skin, she reached up and wrapped a hand around a broad shoulder, the other encompassed in his. She took a shallow, gasping breath, as if she had forgotten the function for the seconds it took for him to draw her in.

Grass, warm leather, musky warmth that reminded Hermione of forbidden knowledge. Her mouth watered. There was flush in her cheeks; skin too tightly drawn across her bones.

He held her too close, their legs almost intertwined, caught between her skirts. He swayed them, enough of an intimation of a waltz to a distant observer but not enough for Hermione to escape his heat or his scent…or the feel his chest, rising and falling, just enough to brush her breasts with each expansion.

It took her bare moments of dizzy thought to realise her breath rose to match his, as if the air in her lungs sought companionship with his and tingles of electricity vibrated across her skin at every point they touched.

She felt his breath skim across the crown of her head, stirring wisps of hair, making her shiver in his arms and tingle through to her toes.

Malfoy must have felt her movements because he drew her even closer, one hand dipped low on her hips, pulling her so flush to his body, that not a sliver of space existed between them. His heat melted though her gown as she felt their swaying movements fade to a standstill, both of them seemingly forfeiting even the semblance of their dance.

Hermione’s thoughts raced through her mind, trying to draw logical words forth with little success. She wet her parched lips, the taste of champagne now cloying and sticking as she tried to speak. All she could think of was how she seemed to fit perfectly in his embrace, how warm, safe and right he felt.

Alarm skittered across Hermione’s nerves, her breaths becoming more laboured. It was how she imagined being held by Theo should’ve felt, how things should’ve gone tonight if Theo hadn’t mysteriously gotten “stuck” somewhere.

She pulled back, that thought slamming to the forefront. Wedging a hand between them, resting against the open V of his shirt front, she tried to pull back.

Malfoy wouldn’t allow it.

His arms tightened their hold until she was forced to tilt her head upwards to glare at him. A simmering anger formed in Hermione’s stomach as her eyes collided with his moonlit quicksilver gaze.

Breath hitching, she took in the intensity of his gaze. Her heart, already racing unsteadily, sped up until it felt like a hummingbird trying to escape her chest. It beat so forcefully, he was likely able to feel through his coat.

She watched as his gaze swept her upturned face; those eyes dipping lower until his gaze was hooded and lingering on her lips like a physical imprint.

There was a heady dizziness which started to cloud Hermione’s thoughts. Her own eyes couldn’t help but dip to his lips. Lips she once thought too thin and always frowning were now parted to allow his panting breaths to escape. They drew closer as she watched.

Mesmerised, she felt those panting breaths brush and mingle with hers. A soft touch of his lips to hers, an instant of electric connection before they parted again.

Aching, she chased him forward, reconnecting, stealing a shocked gasp of air from him before retreating again, stunned by her own actions.

Their eyes met. Alarm, confusion, heat and arousal.

Unable to fight the pull, Hermione allowed the hand wedged between them to snake around his nape, pulling him, unresisting, downwards, until his lips met hers again. This time, they met, full, frenzied. Burning heat raced down Hermione’s spine as he finally kissed her fully.

His lips parted hers, tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers, tasting her and conquering until all Hermione could do was cling to him and moan into the heat of his mouth.

He deepened the kiss, a hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back until he could force her to submit, unashamedly, to him, every inch, every fibre, all her being.

A thigh wedged between her legs, her skirts giving way only enough to allow for a teasing brush against where she ached most. She whimpered into his mouth; he answered with a muffled curse.

His drugging lips pulled away and Hermione felt a flash of inexplicable anger at being denied what she wanted quite desperately. It lasted only moments before they were back on hers and Malfoy was physically lifting her, arm tight around her waist, moving them until her back met a hard surface and a hand was yanking up the sheath of her skirt.

Cool night breeze hit her thighs in an instant before Malfoy wedged his hips between hers. Instinct and need made Hermione lock her legs around him, wriggling until the core of her brushed over hardness.

The friction short circuited her senses for an instant, blinding white encompassing her mind as her hips jerked involuntarily as she disconnected their lips, throwing her head back to moan into the night air.

“Hermione!” His voice pained, he recaptured her lips even as he pinned her more firmly to the wall to prevent her escape.

Hermione felt completely overwhelmed, his words white noise in the haze of her mind. She rolled her hips instinctively, found that friction again even as Malfoy held still, braced against her.

She whimpered into his mouth, using her locked thighs to rise again and letting the hard tip of him catch her at just the right angle so she could…

Malfoy thrust against her. 

Hermione let out a guttural groan, eyes rolling even as he pulled away from their kiss. Instead, he lowered his forehead to hers, irises liquid silver rings around blown pupils as his gaze drifted down to where they moved restlessly against each other. Hands planted against her hips, he forced her to be still and rewarded her obedience with a hard thrust.

Arching, she bit back a scream.

Whispers of magic moved aside the soaked lace at her core. He thrust again, the clothed length of him parting her to allow for direct contract with her swollen centre.

_Bliss._

Hermione surrendered to her baser self. Letting her form be held suspended as his body worked against her, letting her hips meet his with an instinct beyond learned knowledge, chasing her burning completion until she had to set teeth into his shoulder.

Clenching, shaking convulsively, she muffled her screams when the delicious heat morphed into a furious wildfire, razing nerves as it swept mercilessly from her core to her extremities, finally hitting her mind with the impact of a starburst.

She vaguely registered his pained voice as he held her through the tingling, mindless aftermath.

Her body settled before her thoughts started trickling back. Cool breeze over abraded thighs grounded her slowly as she drew back, shocked gaze meeting his as she struggled for air.

Malfoy looked back at her, locks of silver hair hanging in his vision, wet with their mingled perspiration. He panted against her lips, still only an inch away.

Hermione tried to take stock, drew her thoughts around her like a shield.

“Malfoy…I…what just happened?” She tried to sound reasonable, like they had just witnessed the unspeakable events rather than participated in them.

He stared at her, silent, calculating, unnerving.

Another cold breeze stirred her.

Realising the state of her undress, she pushed at his shoulders, not daring to meet his eyes until he took a small step back, allowing her just enough room to unlock her stiff legs from around his hips and slide awkwardly down.

Fixing her skirts proved a challenge with him so close. Her mind raced for something to say in the silence.

“Malfoy, I – I mean, that is to say…this was a…mistake.”

She felt him stiffen.

Cold air rushed in to greet her as he took a step back. After an interminable pause, he spoke. “It’s all in the family.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “What?” she spat.

“Theo’s…routine…is well known.” He said with a shrug as if it explained everything.

Hermione’s mouth was desert dry, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she tried to swallow. “This most certainly is not his routine.”

“Watched him a lot, did you, Granger?”

“I would like to see Theo.” She forced out between clenched teeth.

Malfoy’s lips tilted up in a smirk, more mirthful than the ones she remembered from their childhood. “I told you, Granger. Theo is stuck. I’m to keep you company until he becomes…unstuck.”

Hermione’s dread grew. “And when will that be, Malfoy?”

“Whenever the swelling goes down, I imagine.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. “Swelling?”

Malfoy smiled, courteous and benign, as if she hadn’t just…as if they hadn’t just…

“Theo’s had a bit of an accident with some champagne glasses.” He said as if it explained everything. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten. Shall we go sailing?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is strongly in need of a follow up for the sailing scene which I unfortunately have not had time to write. Please do me a favour and cook it up in your imagination (then season with smut). I can't imagine anything more charming.


End file.
